Pine Brother
by Virodeil
Summary: She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí? (Rey-verse, Book AU)
1. Chapter 1

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

Notes: This story is dedicated to RestrainedFreedom, as a belated birthday gift, fruit of two years work. It is meant as a celebration of goodwill for Christmas and New Year as well, so here I bid you all merry Christmas or Yule and a happy New Year. And to me, myself, it also serves as a memorial that family ties are to be cherished all the time since we know nothing of what the future may bring, as suddenly some families and even one or two cases of direct three generations were wiped off in the recent, quite horrible aeroplane accident in Indonesia (flight from Surabaya to Singapore) while I was trying to wrap up this ficletty story. (It freaked me out, still does actually, since I've been in Surabaya this week, and my aunt and uncle are due to leave from Surabaya to Singapore tomorrow (2nd of January) while the weather is still uncertain.) So happy birthday and many returns for you, RF, and I apologise for the attachments tagged onto the gift that were not supposed to be there, when I intended to give it to you.

1.

Every elf had a name unique to him or her own, given on his or her birth by parents, relatives, or – occasionally – close friends or some important personage. No name was the same, even when it was based on a present or deceased name; combinations or small tweaks were done often when one was to 'borrow' a pre-existing name. This name was supposed to mimic the person's basest True Name, the least likely parts of the True Name to change, hence the exclusive quality, and thus more often than not these names were not shared widely.

Arya knew of that by the age of two, at the same time that she knew that she had a father and elder brother, and they were not coming back to her, ever. Her mother was trying to distract herself from her grief that night by telling the baby girl, upon the said baby girl's persistent asking, why the reading of the family tree upon her father's funeral rite had been so long and boring. Islanzadí told her about the true-names, birth-names, self-names, after-names… but what what attracted baby Arya's attention was only one topic:

Maerzadí, Faelanin: Kiamordí, Izlarún: Islanzadí, Evandar: Evanzadí and Arya; Evúldar, Anuír: Eldanvír, Vinnás: Evandar, Islanzadí: Evanzadí and Arya. Why _Arya_ then? Where had it come from? No other name of her ancestor – or even her _elder brother_ – matched hers!

"Why is Arya different?"

A simple, innocent question, in the little one's opinion. But her mother took a very, very, very long time to answer, after an indeterminate expanse of teary, grief-stricken silence in which the mother clung desperately to her tiny daughter, nearly suffocating her in the process. But Arya waited patiently. She wanted to know, wanted to be introduced to her dead father and probably-dead brother even through just history, wanted some accompaniment tales and titbits to the fuzzy, half-forgotten memories she had of those two males that had briefly filled her life, wanted to be connected to them in some way even only by the history of her own name.

And at last, her patience bore fruit, although it would have seemed a measly reward were she much older than two years old.

"Your brother named you thus, when he held you for the first time two springs ago. He named you after Shur'tugal Arva, a rather close acquaintance of his, and said that you were going to be his little wild girl, just like his frumpy-but-fierce friend, or so he said. Your father and I agreed with the name; but we named you for the word 'star' in our old tongue instead."

It was the last time that Islanzadí was willing to talk about her firstborn son, sadly, And Arya heard nothing else about the missing males in her life until she was much older than two years old. But from then on, the Queen wore crimson dress, crimson cape, almost crimson everything, defying the norm of forest colours prevalent among the elves, unheeding of the displeased looks directed to her by the courtiers.

Arya heard nothing of the reason for that, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

2.

Arya loved pines, and the colour green. Fortunately, Ellesmëra was surrounded by pine trees, and it was set within the heart of a great _pine forest_ anyway, and there was even the Menoa – _Pine_ – Tree on the centre of it all! Pine trees and the colour green, especially dark green, always reminded her about her father and brother: her father's twinkling pine-green eyes looking down at her, which she inherited, and her brother's wet-pine scent smellable from her place in his arms and the green colour of his upper clothe smoldering her in a gentle embrace.

She had nothing else of them, other than those. And she had little comfort also, outside of her memories, for apparently her mother saw too much of Evandar and Evanzadí in her. Arya laughed with abandon delight like her father, she said, and loved swinging from hanging vine to hanging vine entirely too much for her mother's peace of mine like her brother, and Islanzadí distanced herself from her daughter because of painful reminders such as those.

They were more Queen and her heir than mother and her daughter, these days.

Arya, five years old and eager to learn as well as to find out about things, was indulged in her every whim save for those related to her father and brother, sadly. When she asked for fairths, her mother gave her only one, depicting a silver-haired elf with dead pine-green eyes, stern countenance, and thin unsmiling lips. Islanzadí soothed Arya's sad confusion about why her father was lifeless and silver-haired in the fairth while she remembered otherwise with a pained-but-indulgent smile; but she was entirely silent when the little girl wondered about her brother's face, and if her mother had any fairth of him, even the grim one.

But no matter, the little girl thought; she had the pines, and her brother had been one wet-but-fresh pine-tree who had loved hugging her tight and cradling her close. She wore much green too, so that her brother hugged her everyday, and her father looked on her just as continuously.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

3.

Somehow, being fifteen winters old was considered mature enough to determine the rest of one's future within the slow-moving, delicate, perilous, sublime culture of elves. Sons and daughters were to choose to which House they were going to belong for the rest of their lives at this age, with the choices being the House of the father, the mother, any of the grandparents, or a chosen close cousin.

Arya had several choices, according to the rules of House-choosing; but in the end it came to just two, like others of her age: Alantra, the House of her deceased father, or Rílvenar, the House of her ruling mother. But since choosing a House was usually done according to the House to which one was most affiliated with for any reason, there was really just one choice for her at present: Rílvenar, despite her feeling that its 'sunsetty' ways did not quite suit her personality. Her mother's older sister Niduen, her royal mother the Queen, her older first-cousin Lifaen: they were all more somber, more solemn than she was, more "Sunset"-like. If she could, she would choose both Houses; but since she could not possibly do that, she chose the only House she was familiar with.

Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly spiteful or angry about her mother, she wondered if the Queen had manipulated her choice, with all the secrecy about her father and brother, so she would not have any choice other than her mother's House; at those times, she rued the choice bitterly as well. She wondered what Evanzadí had chosen when he had been her age…


	4. Chapter 4

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

4.

Twenty years. Just a little _beyond_ twenty years ago, little elven children had looked forward to having their chance on hatching a dragon egg. But now, twenty-year-old Arya could look forward to nothing else than to being the next queen of the elves in the very, very, very, very distant future, a prospect which totally disinterested her, despite her mother's urgings and machinations. It was a bitter irony that she had been born _just_ a year before the Fall of the Riders. If it had been just _a little_ sooner, even if she might have been killed just months later for defying the Wyrdfell…

But now, her twentieth year of age passed unmarked, at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

5.

Twenty-one springs old. A full cycle of seasons had passed in Arya's life, and nobody around her had said a peep about the Shur'tugalar, not even her cousins, unlike before the mark of her twentieth year had been reached; they did not even reminisce about those legends that had used to bestride the world. Were they afraid? Had her mother told those people not to discuss about them in her hearing? But why? And _why_ only after she had become _twenty_ years old? Was her mother afraid that her fragile little daughter would break if faced with the now-impossible dream of being a Shur'tugal? But ought she not have known that Arya was more practical than that?

But then again, the mother and daughter were more like distant relatives than family by now, more distant than even her first cousins from both sides, so she was not much surprised.

Just bitterly disappointed, and pained, and lonely.


	6. Chapter 6

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

6.

No place in Du Weldenvarden was barred from Arya, not even the Great Library of the Pinewood City, despite its many dangerous and delicate manuscripts unsuitable for one of her age. Only three places in _all_ of Ellesméra were barred from her: one large living quarter deep within the housing compound of Tialdarí Hall set neighbouring her own, her mother's and her late father's, the library section about the Wyrdfell, and the Hall of Family Trees. She did not know why her mother had banned her from those places, and until now she was never deigned with any definite reason to that, but at twenty-five years of age she was getting restless with her bland, closeted, controlled life.

At the unimpressive mark of twenty-five winters, Arya had indeed achieved many impressive things, which were praised continuously, heartily, and more-often-than-not sincerely by her tutors and many of the grown-ups round her. Such a small child, they would exclaim, as they found her proviciency with Rimgar, sword-fighting, archery, lance-throwing, knife-fighting, obstacle sprint, and the various branches of magic and mind arts. Even her ventures into literature, botany, zoology, elven-lore and various other fields of study bore excellent fruits for one so young. But they just did not know, she thought, or perhaps did not care, that she managed to achieve so much while being so young because her mother was often too embroiled in councils about the world outside to be _just_ with her, and that she felt lonely without any real history or link between herself and her missing family members. She could tell more about Linnea the Tree than her own father and brother! What use would it be to a love-thirsty daughter, to have people, even those whom she knew had rather been close to her father, remark: "Evandar was a good ruler with much compassion and a thirst for understanding." And those people simply turned silent when she then asked about her brother!

One day however, to her delight and relief, a haggard, hairy being whom everybody called a "human" stumbled into the city, and Arya happened to be in the right place and the right time to follow him into the Council Hall. Hiding in between the branches that formed the lower roof of the hall, she spied on the meeting. And for the first time ever, she truly considered the outside world, and imagined how it would feel for people there to live under the terror of the Wyrdfell that her tutors and a few other grown-ups had spoken about so far.

The human's name was Brom, and he was apparently a former Shur'tugal judging from the twice mention of the name Doru Araeba and his familiar way of talking about the Shur'tugalar. He was the current leader of a rebel faction called the Varden and looking forward to retirement from it, reasoning that in this way he would be able to do more harm towards the Wyrdfell; a worthy but quite ambitious and insane goal, in Arya's opinion. And then, to her surprise, bewilderment and slight disgust, his speech began to diverge more and more towards how he would kill Morzan, first and foremost of the Wyrdfell, until all topics led to _only_ that and he was rambling almost incoherently.

She did not like him much. He seemed… unhinged, somewhat, and he had made her mother brood for days afterwards too.

Nonetheless, tempted by curiosity and thirst of knowledge, Arya sought out her cousins, hoping that they would maybe know more about the humans and of Brom too. They had all the advantages that she did not, after all: They were the children of Shur'tugalar or had been closely working with the Order before the Fall, they were older than she was even though the youngest was only twenty or so years older than her, and they had all experienced how it had been to live outside the protection of Du Weldenvarden. She went to Glenwing first, her oldest first-cousin and the only one she knew from her father's side; then she hunted down the siblings Lifaen, Narí and Seyda, children of her mother's deceased Shur'tugal younger sister.

But the result was the same in both visits: stony silence, churning with hidden emotions and veiled thoughts.

Arya was _angry_. People trusted her with delicate, perilous knowledge of many things, but _not_ about living history, it seemed. It appeared to her that everybody in Ellesméra had been trying to keep her shielded – and thus locked – within a padded cocoon, keeping her away from something great and terrible that was nevertheless linked closely to her.

Then, if that was so, it might mean that Brom was somehow related to this…

She cornered him in one of the less-travelled paths on the outskirts of Ellesméra, and drilled him about the Wyrdfell, asking about their names first although she had more or less known at least that much of the Wyrdfell from all her studies. And fortunately for her, he caved into the preliminary aim of her cajoling and demanding in the end, resiting: "Morzan, Barst, Glaerun, Rogginth, Lykovrín, Formora, Kialandí—"

She stopped him on the name Kialandí, and ran away.

In _all_ her studies there had _never_ been the mention of the name _Kialandí_!

The name was _too_ closely related to the others from her mother's lineage; Maerza_dí_, Kiamor_dí_, Islanza_dí_, Evanza_dí_…

And neither her tutors nor the manuscripts they had given her had mentioned the name even in passing. To think that she had believed they had told her _all_ the truths…

_Kialandí_. Where would that name be fitted on the family tree? She had a Wyrdfell Shur'tugal as her relative, then? Was it why people had so meticulously and diligently tried to wrap her in ignorance? Was it why her mother had long forbidden her to visit those three places among all in the city? Was the sealed-and-empty living quarter nestled in the family wing his, then?

She felt sick.

She snuck into the library section for the Wyrdfell, for the first time ever in her life defying her mother's direct command by some clever twist of her promise. Her tutors had for no given reason refused to teach her in depth about those traitors, choosing to bend her mind to other subjects, thus this was the first time she looked up information about them. And what a wealth of shocking information! She now knew that most of the traitors were in fact of the elven race, and she also got to see fairths of all _thirteen_ – instead of twelve as she had known before – of those wretches before guards went into the library in search of her.

Perched on the sill of the bay window in her bedroom, having managed to confuse the flustered grown-ups, two particular images danced in her mind, making her sicker with a welling of jumbled emotions: the fairths of Kialandí and Morzan.

Kialandí looked _much_ like her own mother with his midnight-blue eyes and solemn-and-proud features, but much colder and blanker – a feat which Arya had thought impossible to achieve – and… insane; there was no other word for the meld of poignant, hysteric emotions and thoughts in his eyes too unnervingly like her mother's. Who was he in relation to the Queen? Who was he in relation to _her_?

Morzan looked similar, surprisingly quite similar indeed to him, aside from the different eyes – one pale, icy blue and one deep black – and his not-so-elven-like features. But Arya could not help feeling that he was somehow familiar to her, even more familiar than Kialandí, which was confusing since she knew Morzan was a human, and as far as she knew none of her family and close relatives had any serious dealing with the humans, serious and trusting enough that her baby self would have been familiarised to any of them. And something else of him bothered her too: the hopeless yearning and pain lurking underneath the driving insanity that was also present on Kialandí's own countenance. Was it possible that he had been in a romantic relationship with the fairth-taker? But it must have been such a strong relationship, and _all_ her tutors had expounded about the major races in Alagaësia, and humans seemed just a step above Urgals to her, so who would involve herself with a human that way, even though he was a Shur'tugal? But if the fairth-taker was not a woman, or not involved in such relationship with him, then what could have triggered such a look from him? He had managed to garner sympathy from her with that look alone; quite a dangerous thing, she knew, and she intended to forget that look _once_ she knew more about it. She could not afford pitying any of the Wyrdfell, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

7.

Arya snuck into the Hall of Family Trees when the guards – and her mother, more importantly – had relented about her act of disobedience, two summers afterwards. Given that it was located in the heart of Tialdarí Hall, it was far harder to creep into the room than to other places in the Pinewood City; but she succeeded nonetheless, combining _all_ means in her disposal. Once there, she went right to work, tracing the myriad names stitched with silver lines and gold lettering on sable background starting from her own name beneath "Evandar of House Alantra" and "Islanzadí of House Rílvenar." And since her quarry seemed to belong to her mother's side, she focused on that part more than others, tracing up, up, up, and up.

There; she had found Maerzadí on the top. Kiamordí, Niduen…

_Kialandí._

The name was perched beneath her elder-aunt Niduen's name, done in indifferent gold lettering and connected to her aunt through the single line of filial bond. And as she had instinctively known once she had found that name, to the right parallel to Kialandí's place she found her own. First cousins; just like she and the three siblings born of her younger-aunt Faelaris, and just like Anuvír – who insisted to be called Glenwing for his love of birds – from her father's side, born to her younger uncle Elduír.

She gasped, panted, clutched at the vines that trailed the circumference of the great tapestry, choking the life and functionality of that section of the perennial plant.

She was _first cousins_ with one of the _Wyrdfell_!

Still quite dizzy, she inhaled a few more ragged breaths, then straightened up a little, ignoring her trembling hands that were still rendering the vines lifeless and broken. She had one more object of curiosity to be sated, and she had to fulfil it now, since she doubted that she could sneak into this room again until she was much older. She had to find her brother.

But even after long searching among the side of first her mother then her father, after she had not found the name by her place and persisted that it was a mistake, she did not find "Evanzadí" anywhere on her family tree, not even on the whole tapestry.

It was too much to her. Sobbing wretchedly and with tears blurring her eyesight, she stumbled away from the expanse of sable cloth, running out of the room. She did not bother about secrecy and broken promises now, as one idea ran over and over again in her mind:

her mother had _lied_ to her _all_ her life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

8.

Brom was becoming a frequent and semi-permanent guest to the Pinewood City, and also to Tialdarí Hall. Arya was torn between annoyed and elated with this new arrangement; elated because she could learn so, so, so much about the world outside of Du Weldenvarden and humans in general from a very willing source, and annoyed because, if she was not careful with her words, Brom would be so easily drawn into tangents about Morzan's cruelty and atrocity and general treachery by just _one_ wrong word spoken or implied. They often spent their spare times together on the base of Menoa Tree, in the gardens of Tialdarí Hall, or outside the abode of the maimed Shur'tugal Oromis, talking about the Varden and Brom's future plans.

Islanzadí was not pleased with her daughter's new-found friendship, though. It was strange to Arya, since she thought that her mother would be glad that she was pursuing a real experience on diplomacy with people other than her own race. But provided that the Queen would not intervere with her time with Brom, she would not question the motifs behind the displeasure; not so much and directly, at any rate.

Arya was now twenty-eight winters old, still a child among elves but – which she did not believe, considering it a prank – already a full adult among the humans according to Brom. But because of her new status of Brom's friend and her ongoing title of the Queen's sole heir to the throne, she was permitted to be present in the Royal Hall when Brom was presented with a sapphire ring – Aren – bearing the symbol of the Bond, Yáwë. Through the narration of the symbol's meaning and the significance of bearing such a token, which preceeded the ring-giving, she also found out why it seemed to be so important to the for-once speechless Brom.

For an outsider, the symbol meant that he or she would consider the needs and wishes of the elven race first and foremost in his or her dealings anywhere and anytime. And because of this burden, the bearer of the symbol would gain help from any elf upon request, and he or she would be considered an honorary member of the elven kingdom.

The concept was… interesting, in her opinion. She looked forward to long days spent researching about the Bond in the Great Library. The tideous activity and new aim would distract her from all the secrecy and lies that her life turned out to have been surrounded with, moreover, which had tormented her for three years barring her meetings with Brom.


	9. Chapter 9

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

Warning: Some elements on Brom's characterisation from here on might be construed as "character bashing." But I would prefer to think that he was human, just like any other person, and thus bound for many faults.

9.

_All_ her family were _angry_.

No, beyond that, they were _furious_ with her.

Arya was now thirty winters old, and considered herself mature enough to take on some responsibility. Brom seemed to be a caring person and an abled body with weapons and magic too, and he had promised to guide her through dealing with the other races that shared the same land as the elves. So one day in spring she approached the Queen about becoming the elven ambassador for the Varden, something Brom had been trying to establish in this latest visit of his to the Pinewood City. She considered it perfect from all angles, and told her mother so in their private meeting after Brom's latest – doomed – petition: Arya would gain necessary experience about the outside world and the other races, the elves would be well-represented by the heir-to-the-throne, the Varden would not be slighted by the continual refusal for elven ambassadorial appointee, and Brom needed not gain more wrinkles from trying to convince the Queen to appoint a representative for his pet organisation.

But Islanzadí had been _just_ condescendingly amused, and treated her daughter like a whiny three-winter-old brat.

So Arya had approached the dragon-dancer twins Íduna and Neya to ask about magical tattoos, and if they could help her with putting one on her body. With all the guile and charm that she possessed, she tricked them into swearing that they would help her until the tattoo's completion no matter what before she told them what she had in mind.

She wanted the symbol of Yáwë imprinted on her shoulder, like the twins with their interlinked dragon tattoo, so that she could represent the elves without the trappings of being an heir-to-the-throne.

The twins were so _angry_, and she was scared because they were usually so quiet and placid, and partly she was fearful of the venomous, incredulous question they hissed at her: "Do you really wish to be a slave, little princess?" But an oath in the Ancient Language was unbreakable, no matter however much both parties wished otherwise.

And now, _nobody_ in her extended family would speak to her, and there were all the signs that they would _never_ speak to her, ever again, just after she had told them – and shown them, in some cases – the tattoo that had been freshly imprinted upon her flesh, upon her soul. Nobody gave her any reason to that too, just pulling a stricken-and-helpless-but-furious countenance that inwardly frightened her so much.

And at the same time, something that had beforehand never come across her mind happened. She was _banished_ from _her mother's_ presence.

Islanzadí of House Rílvenár was now _just_ her queen, no longer her mother, and that hurt the most.

She departed Ellesméra as the newly-minted ambassadorial appointee without any fanfare, and with nobody of her extended family witnessing her leave her home for the first time ever, let alone blessing or praising her. It was _far_ from what she had imagined when she had decided to take up the mantle of becoming an elven ambassador to the Varden.

And worse, though he was sympathic enough to her plight, Brom was _much_ more focused on finally gaining what he had wanted for so long rather than her broken heart, life and future. He constantly talked about what he wanted to do in regard to the new alliance and what he wanted Arya to do in those schemes of his, all the way through Du Weldenvarden, and he never once noticed that Arya's semi-enthusiasm was faked.

And she had thought that she had _at last_ made a friend…


	10. Chapter 10

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

10.

Arya insisted fearfully that they were being followed, right from a little beyond the last reaches of the Guarding Forest. But Brom insisted back that she was new to the outside world and therefore understandably paranoid about it. To think that she had privately rage that her mother – no, _the Queen_ – had treated her like a three-winter-old!

They were past Ceunon and riding towards Gil'ead when it happened.

Nightingales were twittering happily that night, or so she thought, and the melodious chirping somehow made her drowsy. So she pleaded out of the first watch and made a quick work of snuggling into her bedroll. She felt safe and secure and even comfortable, but her mind was too sleepy to notice anything wrong or unusual.

Even when a pair of strong arms cradled her instead of the night air and her own blankets, she felt that nothing was amiss. She felt just right, especially with the wet pine-needle scent filling her nostrils and slipping into her dreamscape.

The next morning, she found Brom sitting white-faced and rigid on the edge of their camp, stealing fearful glances at her. He would not answer her why he had failed to wake her up for the second watch of the previous night, furthermore. In fact, he was strangely silent for the rest of their journey to Belatona, which Brom had informed her before would end the first leg of their trip to the Varden.

Surprisingly, she found that she could care less about Brom's new attitude towards her. A part of her vindictively pointed out that it was payback for what he had done to her, but the other just dreamily recalled the hazy experience from the previous night.

Real or dreaming, true or fantasised, she believed that her _brother_ had been there, loving her, taking care of her, guarding her, just like he ought to have done since thirty years ago.

It was enough to brighten her mood till they reached Belatona, and sour Brom's.


	11. Chapter 11

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

11.

Brom had gone even more jittery and sour once they settled in a luxurious-looking inn in the heart of Belatona. In fact, it seemed as if somebody else had forced him quite against his will to choose that particular place to regroup. It bewildered Arya. But since she did not mind sleeping in a clean bed in a clean room without fear of burglars and pickpockets in the night, she chose to once more ignore the moody Shur'tugal. The noisy, smelly atmosphere of human towns and cities still unnerved her, but now at least she could ward her tiny rented room against those inconveniences and relax a little.

She did just that, as evening deepened into night and the outside noises dimmed a little. Lying curled on the narrow, filthy, smelly bed like a cat, she entertained herself by creating tiny coloured blobs of light and making them dance round each other. The deed and the visual spectacle that it created always soothed her for some reason, even in her worst moods. There was something playful and childlike conveyed simply by the dance of coloured spots, and the disorganised tumble of tiny light balls ironically exuded a sense of peace, familiarity and intimacy that she never got from her own mother after she had turned three.

But perhaps, the last was not that surprising. One of her earliest memories was indeed that of being entertained with little bright colourful blobs flying gently round her head, while the scent of fresh, wet pine-needles encased her in accompaniment to a strong cuddling embrace.

From large, stolid human arms and chest, now she realised as the train of her memories brought her to its different feel from the embraces given by her parents and relatives, but she was far too sleepy to contemplate the revelation. And then, as her sight turned inward into reverie and her ears caught the soft trilling sound of a nightingale's song, she willingly succumbed into peace, encased in a pair of stolid-but-tender human arms and surrounded by the scent of wet pines.


	12. Chapter 12

**Pine-Brother**  
>By: Eärillë<p>

She yearned for him all her life. Was it so wrong to want to know about one's brother? What was so terrible about him that people never deigned to talk about Evanzadí, firstborn son of Evandar and Islanzadí?

12.

Brom went into such a fury the next morning when he discovered that her room was warded tight and thick, and that she had been spending the night playing with lights created by magic, claiming that she was attracting undue attention while wasting so much valuable energy that could be used to fend for them both if need be. He was also highly suspicious of the soft-surfaced-but-hardy pine-scented bedroll that had somehow gone between her and the detested mattress some time during the night, but to that Arya had no response, for she did not know anything about it too save that her brother had laid her on it before he had gone away and she loved it.

Then again, her only response to the first matter was to ignore it.

They resumed the journey after an abysmal, stony, awkward breakfast in the inn's common room, and no word passed between them, neither by mouth nor mind, especially when Brom spied the disputed bedroll peeking out of one of her saddle-bags. They clattered out on the cobbled road out of the human city on their horses without attracting the undue attention that Brom had so fretted about, and Arya spent the ride laughing to herself.

Neither riders laughed to themselves or outloud, however, when they had arrived to the bit of road that ran practically by the shore of Leona Lake, just outside Belatona.

Somebody draped and concealed in a heavy crimson cloak from hooded head to booted feet barred their way, and the horses strangely seemed content not to either go round him or indeed over him. Arya did not fear humans, for she was in the firm opinion that they were all piteous, pitiable creatures, an opinion which had been strengthened time and time again through her observation on their journey so far, but this silent, unmoving cloaked person unnerved her.

And Brom was practically white-faced underneath all those hairs, and sat up rigidly again on his saddle. What did he know about this unwelcome obstacle that she did not? Could the uninvited guest possibly be one of the Wyrdfell in disguise? But she could not sense any dragon nearby!

Come to think of it again, she could not sense _anything_ of the cloaked figure yonder…

Her own mind floundered. She had only heard of several magical creatures doing this trick. But that cloaked figure could not be a magical creature, could it?

Then, suddenly, she heard the peaceful trilling of a nightingale, coming from the direction of the crimson-hooded head.

With just a pat on her horse's neck and leaving her weapons – save for her ever-present belt-knife – behind, she tore towards the triller without a second thought. Brom's dismayed and furious cry that trailed behind her was very much ignored, as she leapt into the long-awaited, much-welcome embrace of pine-scent and strong, stolid human arms. The hood of her brother's cloak was knocked back as she tried to burrow her hands and face into the side of his neck, but he did not seem to care.

He seemed to care though, very much so, when Brom did not content himself with crying out her name. Out came a blade from a hidden sheath on the right hip of her brother, and Arya turned just in time to see crimson clash with silver with a deafening clang. She was shifted onto her brother's right hip, just above the empty sheath, as a furious sword-fight commenced between the two men.

And then, just as abruptly, her brother barked out a command to bind a person in place in the Ancient Language, before he sprang onto a horse – _her_ horse to be exact, now she realised – and bore the two of them away, leaving Brom seated stiffer than a tree on his own horse with his blade still unsheathed.

Her brother's sword never left his hand either, as he seemed to instruct her horse by mind alone like the elves did. The only thing that he did once they were galloping away was to shift her to a spot in front of him, while still very much enclosed in his arms as if he was afraid she would fall or run away.

But he had at one time been raised among the elves indeed, had he not? And he would not harm her since she was his sister, would he?

For some time, they raced off along the seemingly-forsaken road as if pursued. Her horse took confusing turns and in the end left the road completely, but by then Arya was too busy giggling and trying in vane to avoid tickling fingers nearly all over her body to care much about it. She cuddled to him with a laugh of sheer bliss when he nuzzled the top of her head and seemed to inhale her scent much as she did his, and gave him a big sidewise hug aside from a squeal and more laughter when he followed the motion with a burrowing kiss on the same place. She was with her brother again, after thirty years of separation and ignorance, and it was all that she had hoped for, wanted for, yearned for.

And as noon-time came, and they halted in a sun-dappled clearing far into a strange wood and she could look up at her brother's face, into her brother's eyes, for the first time, she just gave him a soft childlike smile, a smile that she had not given her mother for nigh on twenty-five years.

Sorrow, agony, yearning and a lerking insanity indeed shone from those black-and-blue orbs, but familiarity, sincerity, deep affection and childlike contentment tempered it, directed solely to her, and she found she feared nothing from them, from him, as the light deep in those eyes mirrored those of her kin, even her mother before her banishment: woe and peril to those who harmed her. He did not give her a smile, she doubted he could give a smile to anybody after decades of lonely hardships, but the stern line of his lips softened as he looked deep into her eyes in turn, as he cradled her close against his chest. She counted those dearer, far dearer than praises sung for her and her achievements, she now realised, as she had been waiting, hoping, yearning for it all her young life. Whatever came in her future, it did not seem so bleak at present.

She did not need a fairth of clay now, or a name on golden thread: She had the living self of Evanzadí, be he a Wyrdfell under another name or not, and she was content.


End file.
